


if I stay here I'll never leave

by napricot



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e15 Coda, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 03, Shower Sex, Tender Bathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napricot/pseuds/napricot
Summary: “C’mon Doc, I’m fine, nothing wrong with me that some rest and painkillers won’t fix.”Just hearing Eddie’s voice from down the hallway, hoarse but strong and steady, is enough to slow Buck down from his jog through the hospital hallways. Well, hearing Eddie’s voice, and seeing the disapproving looks from literally every single nurse he passes. When he gets to Eddie’s room, the doctor standing at Eddie’s bedside has her arms crossed, and Eddie’s giving her his best puppy dog eyes. They’re proving less effective than usual apparently, maybe on account of how red-rimmed Eddie’s eyes still are, because the doctor shakes her head.“Maybe so, but I’m not comfortable releasing you unless there’s someone who can keep an eye on you for the rest of the night, Mr. Diaz,” she says.Buck looks after Eddie, after the events of "Eddie Begins".
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 51
Kudos: 946





	if I stay here I'll never leave

**Author's Note:**

> For Mimi, who's the reason I watched this show at all. It's proven to be pretty comforting quarantine viewing, so ty bb!
> 
> Title from The National's "Sea of Love".

“C’mon Doc, I’m fine, nothing wrong with me that some rest and painkillers won’t fix.”

Just hearing Eddie’s voice from down the hallway, hoarse but strong and steady, is enough to slow Buck down from his jog through the hospital hallways. Well, hearing Eddie’s voice, and seeing the disapproving looks from literally every single nurse he passes. When he gets to Eddie’s room, the doctor standing at Eddie’s bedside has her arms crossed, and Eddie’s giving her his best puppy dog eyes. They’re proving less effective than usual apparently, maybe on account of how red-rimmed Eddie’s eyes still are, because the doctor shakes her head.

“Maybe so, but I’m not comfortable releasing you unless there’s someone who can keep an eye on you for the rest of the night, Mr. Diaz,” she says.

“That’ll be me,” Buck says, stepping into the room. “How’re you doing, Eddie?”

Hen had said Eddie would be fine, but he looks pretty awful still: he must not have had the chance to wash up yet because there’s still too much grime and mud on his face, which is too damn pale under all the dirt. He looks about as exhausted and worn down as Buck’s ever seen him, but he’s alive, and once he sees Buck, he smiles. The naked, shaky relief on Eddie’s face has Buck moving closer, has his hands moving to pat at Eddie’s shoulders and chest as if to steady him, or to make sure he’s really okay, until Eddie grips one of Buck’s hands with his own.

“I’m fine, ready to get out of here and sleep in my own bed,” says Eddie. “Have you talked to Christopher, does he know I’m—”

Eddie’s grip is tight and strong, though his hands are still cold, and Buck chafes at them with his own hands to warm them up. 

“Christopher’s still asleep, he’s with Abuela, I talked to her already. He’ll be fine with her and Carla tonight and tomorrow.” Buck looks to the doctor. “So can I take him home? Is he on post-concussion protocol?”

“No concussion, but he still needs to be careful and take it easy. You can take him home, just keep an eye on him,” says the doctor. “Promise me you’ll stay warm and rest up, and I’ll discharge you,” she tells Eddie.

“I promise,” Eddie says, at the same time Buck says, “I’ll make sure of it.”

* * *

Buck has a blanket and a thermos of hot herbal tea waiting for Eddie in the car, and he’s got an umbrella open over their heads to keep the rain off as he helps Eddie into the seat before tucking the blanket around him.

“Jesus, Buck this is some serious overkill,” protests Eddie.

“The doctor literally _just said_ you’re supposed to stay warm. Now c’mon, drink your tea. No caffeine, so you’ll still be able to sleep after.” When he starts the car, he cranks the heat, ignoring Eddie’s exasperated glare. “What? Hey, maybe _I’m_ cold.”

“Uh huh, sure,” says Eddie, and rests his head against the window. “You okay, by the way? I didn’t even have a chance to ask.”

Buck’s hands clench tight around the steering wheel, and he drives slow and careful through the still-pounding rain. “I wasn’t the one buried in a hole underground. I’m fine, Eddie.”

“And everyone else? Hayden?”

“Everyone’s fine, man. Just rest, alright? We’ll be home soon.”

It’s so late it’s almost early, so even LA’s always busy roads are pretty much empty, nothing on them but rain and the glare of streetlights against the wet streets, the ride silent other than the soft thwapping noise of the windshield wipers and the rain tapping an uneven rhythm against the roof of the car. When Buck stops at a light, he glances over to see Eddie seemingly asleep against the car window, his even breaths leaving little puffs of fog against the glass, and the sight pins him for a long moment, as if he’s been caught in the welcome rubble of some devastatingly gentle aftermath: Eddie’s lips, slightly parted, his lashes soft against the bruised hollows under his eyes, the visible evidence of his untroubled breathing.

Eddie’s safe, here in Buck’s car. Eddie is not under forty feet of unforgiving dirt. He’s safe and he’s alive.

By the time Buck tears his eyes away, the light’s gone past green and into yellow, and he waits at the intersection through another light cycle, stealing glances at Eddie the whole time.

* * *

When they reach Eddie’s house, Eddie rouses enough to stagger out of the car and inside on his own power. Buck’s about to herd Eddie towards his bedroom, fully intending on tucking Eddie in if he has to, when Eddie bypasses the bed entirely, kicking off his shoes and stripping off clothes on his way to the bedroom and bathroom, leaving a trail of his assorted layers strewn all over: shoes and socks right in the middle of the hallway, jacket tossed over the back of the couch, scrub shirt onto the dresser. It’s a far cry from Eddie’s usual obsessive devotion to keeping his floors clean and clear so that there’s nothing for Christopher to trip over with his crutches, and it means that Eddie must be so damn exhausted that he’s practically drunk with it.

“Woah woah woah, you gotta get in bed, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not before I take a shower. I feel like I’ve still got mud in places I don’t wanna think about.”

When Eddie stops to get his pants off, he nearly topples over before Buck braces him with an arm around his waist. For a moment, Buck wishes he wasn’t wearing long sleeves, wishes he could feel Eddie’s bare skin against his own. Then Eddie shivers, goosebumps rising on his arms right in front of Buck’s eyes, and he tucks Eddie closer against him, to warm him up.

“I think bed is a better idea than a shower right now,” he says, and Eddie scowls and shakes his head again, even more emphatically this time. Eddie and Christopher don’t look all that much alike at first glance, but this particular combination is so purely them, such a direct line from father to son, that Buck can’t help but smile.

“No way,” says Eddie, and he lurches out of Buck’s grasp to power on ahead towards the bathroom. Buck follows, of course, and Eddie shoots him a half-hearted glare from over his shoulder. “This isn’t the firehouse, there’s only one shower in here. You want to take a shower too, you’ll have to use the other bathroom.”

“I don’t need a shower, I’m just here to supervise _your_ shower.”

“I don’t need _supervision_ ,” protests Eddie, even as he undermines his words by sitting heavily on the closed toilet seat, his face wan and pale.

“Oh really?” says Buck, raising his eyebrows.

“I just need a little break,” Eddie says. “I’ll be good to go in a sec.”

Buck reaches past him to turn the water in the shower/bath combo on, cranking the knob towards the hottest setting. Eddie’s house must have a hell of a water heater, because the water starts steaming after just a few seconds.

“Sure, sure. So, hey, how many calls have we been on where someone fell in the shower or bathroom and cracked their damn skull open?” Buck asks before answering his own question. “A lot, Eddie. Like, so many. I’m staying.”

“I’m fine, Buck. Just tired. I’m a big boy, I can manage a shower all on my own. Picking me up from the hospital, the blanket, the tea, I appreciate all that, I do, but you don’t have to coddle me, you don’t have to do all of this. It’s—it’s too much.”

“I want to,” insists Buck, and checks on the temperature of the water coming out of the faucet. Too hot, so he scoots the dial back a little towards the cold setting.

“If Cap put you up to this, I doubt he included _supervise Diaz’s shower_ in his orders—”

“This isn’t about Bobby’s orders, okay?” snaps Buck. “This is—this is about how you were stuck forty feet underground and I couldn’t do a fucking thing but feel the damn rope slide through my fingers and wait for a miracle. You say I’m doing too much, but I haven’t done _shit_ tonight, Eddie. Not really. So let me do this, alright?”

Eddie stares at him, eyes wide with some emotion Buck can’t quite get a read on, and he turns away to check on the water again. The temperature’s perfect now, so he turns on the shower spray and steps back, starts taking off his own clothes too.

“Buck,” says Eddie, voice somewhere between hoarse and gentle, but Buck interrupts him before he can say whatever he’s about to say.

“Won’t be the first time we’ve taken a shower together, c’mon, get in.” He pulls the shower curtain aside with a flourish.

“This isn’t exactly like that time we had to jump into a swimming pool full of fake blood, we don’t need to help each other get cleaned up.”

The memory makes Buck grimace. That stuff had been _gross_. Just, like, ridiculously sticky. It turns out that sometimes Hollywood movie magic isn’t magical at all, especially not when you strip out of most of your gear to dive in and rescue some B-movie actors from drowning in fake blood and have that gross movie magic clinging and dripping in places nothing should be clinging and dripping in.

“I really thought they used CGI for that kinda thing,” Buck says, aggrieved all over again. “How is it cheaper to fill an actual pool with actual fake blood than to do it with special effects?”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”

Buck strips out of his underwear quickly and steps into the tub. Now that he’s in here, he’s starting to think he’s made a miscalculation; there’s really not all that much room for two grown men. But he’s committed at this point, he’s not about to back out now. Also, he’s already getting pretty wet.

“C’mon in, the water’s fine,” he says, and Eddie heaves a sigh.

“Sure, whatever. But you don’t get to complain about me elbowing you in here or whatever, my shower’s not nearly as roomy as the stalls in the firehouse.”

Buck keeps an eye on him as he gets up from the toilet seat carefully, ready to offer an arm for support if he needs it. He doesn’t, and Buck hastily averts his gaze when Eddie steps out of his boxer briefs. They’ve seen each other naked before; there’s not much call for modesty in the firehouse bathrooms. That doesn’t mean it’s cool to let his eyes linger. Eddie’s hot, so what. Buck’s known that from the moment he first saw him. There’s no call to get weird about it now, after a couple years of friendship.

And anyway, what’s important right now is taking care of Eddie. When Eddie steps under the shower’s spray, he tips his head back with a groan of pure relief, and it puts Buck at eye-level with the strong line of his throat, which is pretty distracting until Buck remembers that there’s a reason he’s in this shower with his best friend, and it’s not to ogle him, it’s to help him.

“Hey, turn around, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Now Eddie groans again, more frustrated and exasperated than relieved this time. “I can wash my own damn hair, come on.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Buck, and crosses his arms. “Let’s see you lift your arms then.”

Eddie may be physically fine, more or less, but Buck knows from experience that the combination of intense physical exertion and the shakiness and hangover that come after a too-long adrenaline rush can be brutal. They’re trained for this kind of thing, sure, and while that training carries them through the moment, helps them save people, the comedown can suck. After the tsunami, Buck pretty much couldn’t get out of bed for a couple of days, he’d been so sore and exhausted. He figures Eddie’s got to be feeling a lot like he had back then.

Just as expected, when Eddie tries to raise his arms to scrub at his head, he winces and grunts in pain.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. C’mon, turn around.”

Buck grabs the shampoo bottle and squirts some into his palm, and after a glower that’s mostly just cute instead of intimidating, Eddie turns around and lets Buck wash his hair. Buck massages the shampoo into Eddie’s scalp carefully but thoroughly, letting the suds build up, and he keeps doing it until the water running down from his hair is totally clear, no lingering mud or dirt left. He grabs a washcloth then, and strokes it gently behind Eddie’s ears. When Buck was a kid, he’d never believed his mom about there being any point to washing behind his ears, but Buck knows better now. Eddie shudders, just a little, some tension that had been making his shoulders taut dropping away.

“You’re being very thorough,” says Eddie, his voice gone low and hoarse again. He doesn’t grab the loofah dangling from the shower caddy though, doesn’t make any move to scrub himself down. “You done yet?”

“No,” Buck says, and moves the washcloth on down the back of Eddie’s neck and lower, wiping soft and slow at the broad expanse of his back. The strong muscles there are so tense, still, and Buck would massage them but he doesn’t want to risk hurting Eddie. “You can’t reach back here on your own either.”

There are some bruises here along Eddie’s shoulders and back, likely from where dirt and debris had come down on top of him as he tried to protect his head and neck. Buck makes a note to get Eddie some arnica, Maddie swears the stuff works miracles, but for now he just sweeps the washcloth over the bruises as gently as possible, like if he uses a soft enough touch, they’ll melt away, until Eddie sighs and shivers.

“You getting cold? You can turn the heat up on the water. Or, is this hurting you, sorry—”

“No. No, it’s not. It—it feels good, Buck, thanks.”

“Good.”

Buck wonders how far he can take this before he’s well outside the bounds of bros helping each other out. He’s doing this to help Eddie, the same way Eddie had helped him deal with his first undignified attempts to shower when he’d first come home after his leg surgery, but what they’re doing now is a pretty far cry from the tragicomedy of attempting to maneuver in a bathroom with an enormous cast that couldn’t get wet. Eddie’s bruised and stiff and sore, and he’s surely capable of scrubbing himself down. He makes no move to do so yet though, so Buck presses onward.

“Lift your arms for me? As much as you can, anyway.”

Eddie does so with a hiss. “Don’t think I swam very far, but fuck, my arms sure feel like I swam for miles.”

“Yeah, well, you did also get a little bit buried alive,” says Buck and wipes the washcloth firmly along the underside of Eddie’s arms on down to his armpits and then, lighter and more slowly, along the defined muscles of his torso.

Eddie’s probably pretty clean by now; the water’s been running clear for a while, and if Buck wants to be more thorough about this, he’s going to have to get real intimate, well past any kind of just bros plausible deniability. Which wouldn’t be the dumbest or worst thing Buck’s ever done, but he doubts Eddie would be alright with it. And anyway, now’s not exactly the time. He’s supposed to be taking care of Eddie here, not coming onto him.

Just as he’s about to hand over the washcloth to Eddie to take care of the rest himself, Eddie braces himself against the shower wall with one arm, his head hanging low as the water sprays over both of them now, and says, “Drowned a little too. I almost—almost gave up, down there. The water was rising, and my oxygen ran out, and I tried swimming for a drainage tunnel or something, I tried, but—I figured that was it, I was done for, there was no way I was getting out of there.”

Buck’s chest goes tight and panicked just thinking about it, knowing that while Eddie had been drowning, _dying,_ he’d been forty feet up doing jack shit.

“But you got out,” he says, and it’s almost a question, like he still needs the reassurance even though Eddie’s standing right in front of him.

“I thought of Christopher, and Shannon. How much I’d failed both of them, how I almost died on them, back when I was still in the army. I thought of how Christopher already lost his mom, and how could I let him lose me too, how could I not give everything I had to fight to come home—”

Buck puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as Eddie’s voice breaks. “And you did it man, you came home.”

Eddie nods, but he still doesn’t raise his head. “I thought of you. The 118 too, of course, but I thought of _you_.”

The low fervency of Eddie’s voice pulls at something inside of Buck, something that unravels as easily as the ribbon on a perfectly wrapped present, opening to reveal something far more precious, something made to be given away rather than kept. Buck doesn’t know what to do about it, not here, not now. If they weren’t goddam naked in a shower together, he’d give Eddie a hug, a normal besties hug, but they _are_ in a hot shower together, and there’s Eddie’s _voice_ , trembling and raw, and there’s the vulnerable line of his bare wet shoulders, so Buck tips his head forwards and rests it agains the perfectly inviting spot where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder. Eddie sighs, long and shaky, and a shudder runs through him as he shifts, lifting his head, and that makes Buck move too. He turns his head, and the motion makes his lips brush across the hot skin of Eddie’s neck, and the _sound_ Eddie makes, quiet but unmistakeable—

Buck can’t help it. He closes his eyes and lets his lips linger, tastes Eddie’s skin. After that, it feels natural to direct Eddie to turn, to keep wiping the the sudsy washcloth gently across Eddie’s chest, through the dark hair there. It feels like the only possible response to the way Eddie’s lips are parted, his eyes on Buck’s mouth, water glimmering in his eyelashes, is to lean in and kiss him. Eddie’s lips are soft and surprised, unmoving against Buck’s lips, and he’s about to pull away and pass the kiss off as getting carried away, or, like, a platonic _I’m happy you’re alive_ kiss, or maybe he could say he’d been aiming for his cheek or forehead and totally missed—but then Eddie’s lips move against his, kissing him back.

Eddie has really nice lips, Buck’s always thought so. They’re even nicer like this, when Buck can feel how soft and warm they are. Still, maybe this is a _thank you_ kiss, or a _got carried away_ kiss, maybe Buck shouldn’t let this go further. He pulls away, ready to apologize or joke, only all the words fly right out of his head when he sees the look on Eddie’s face. It’s open and tender, surprised, but not in a bad way. Surprised like Buck’s just given him a gift.

“Sorry,” Buck whispers. “Didn’t mean to make it weird.”

Eddie just shakes his head, his eyes still wide and wondering. “I thought of you,” he says again, and now he reaches for Buck’s face, cupping it with his palm. “I’m—I think of you a lot, I’m realizing.” Eddie leans in and kisses Buck, fast and gentle, like punctuation for his words, before he pulls back again. “It—it wasn’t weird.”

And Buck has a lot of questions, right, like how has Eddie been thinking of him and for how long, and has Eddie ever done this with a guy before, and is this just a reaction to a near death experience, and does Eddie want more. But then Eddie licks his lips, and his eyes flicker back down to Buck’s lips, like he can’t help but look at them, and forget questions, why would Buck ask questions when he could be kissing Eddie.

So he does, he kisses Eddie. It’s kind of perfect. Just—it’s slow and sweet, because here in this bubble of steamy warmth, Buck feels slow and sweet, like all he’s got to give Eddie is honey, like all he wants is to make sure he feels safe and warm and wanted. There’s something a little hesitant in the way Eddie opens to Buck, but when he does, that hesitation dissolves and he kisses Buck with absolute conviction, and Buck thinks he knows, now, some of what Eddie’s been thinking, when he thinks of Buck.

They kiss and kiss, lulled by the sound of the shower and soft, wet sounds their mouths make, and Buck gets his hands on Eddie, on all the smooth and wet skin that’s right there for the touching, and Eddie gets his hands on Buck too, skimming over his skin like he can’t believe Buck’s here with him, and every touch makes Buck feel new and raw. When Eddie gets the slightest bit rough, nipping at Buck’s lower lip, Buck groans, and then things speed up, their kisses getting sloppy and deep and long, until they’re both breathing hard, and fuck, everything’s so hot and wet and _good_. But they’ve been in the shower for a while now, and even Eddie’s house’s copious hot water has gotta run out some time.

“We should—we should get out of here, we’re wasting water, and you need to rest,” says Buck, and pulls himself away from Eddie with effort.

His eyes stay pretty glued to Eddie though, so he sees Eddie’s cock, half hard and getting harder, before Eddie can attempt any belated modesty. The sight makes all the blood in Buck pump hotter than it already is. He’s tasted Eddie’s mouth, and fuck, he still wants more, he wants whatever Eddie will give him.

“Shit, ignore that,” says Eddie, tipping his head back and closing his eyes with a grimace. “It’s just, you know, a physical reaction, you don’t have to—”

Buck shuts him up with a kiss.

“Hey—it’s, it’s okay. Just—let me take care of you, alright?”

“What—“

Buck drops to his knees, careful in the slippery confines of the tub. It’s been a while, but he figures it’s like riding a bike. He puts his hands on Eddie’s hips to brace himself, then he looks up at Eddie through the still-warm spray of the shower.

“This okay?”

“Um, yeah, if—if it’s okay with you,” stutters Eddie, his eyes wide. “I didn’t even know, you know, that you were—”

“Into guys too?” he finishes for Eddie, and Eddie nods. “Sure, just not often. I didn’t know you—”

“Um, same, just—never had the chance.”

“So, is this alright?” asks Buck, and leans just that much closer, until his lips are barely brushing against Eddie’s stiffening cock and Eddie gasps, the slightest tremor running through his body.

Eddie brings his hand down to cup Buck’s face, his face still soft and almost dazed with surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Good,” says Buck, and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s cock, then another, and another, because Eddie has a really nice cock, exactly the right size to fit neatly in Buck’s big hands and that feels like some kind of sign worthy of a few appreciative and exploratory kisses, until Eddie makes this desperate choked off sound and Buck stops teasing and takes his cock into his mouth.

This is no rushed club bathroom or backseat of a car blowjob. Buck can take his time, and Eddie’s not just some random guy, Eddie’s _the_ guy, Buck’s best friend. Buck’s taking care of Eddie here, and he wants to know Eddie’s every little reaction to this, wants to know what he likes and what he doesn’t, what makes him tremble, what makes him moan. So he licks and sucks and pays close attention: to how hot Eddie’s cock feels in his mouth, to whether he likes a firm touch or a soft one, to whether he wants Buck to take him deeper. He’s careful and slow, keeping an eye on Eddie every so often, thrilled by the look of open, desperate want on his face, by the helpless little thrusting motion of his hips.

“Holy shit, Buck, don’t stop, please—”

When Eddie shudders and moans, Buck holds his hips tighter and rubs little circles over the smooth skin there, a silent _I’ve got you_ , and sucks harder, gratified when Eddie groans out his name.

It’s only when Eddie gets a rough grip on Buck’s short hair that he even notices that he’s hard himself, and boy, does he goddam notice it then, the pull going straight from his hair to his cock. He moans with Eddie still in his mouth, and Eddie strokes an apologetic hand over his head, but before he can take his hand away, Buck grabs it and redirects it to the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” says Eddie, and squeezes hard, his thumb digging in hard enough that it might bruise, and that’s it, that’s all Buck needs to give up on being sweet and careful.

He wants Eddie to come, wants to taste it in his mouth and swallow it down, wants him all boneless and relaxed and blissed out, an undeniably good end to a monumentally shitty day, all their fear turning to sweetness. He takes Eddie deeper until Eddie cries out, and then he grips Eddie’s hips tightly to keep him there as he comes, shaking, spilling into Buck’s mouth.

“Oh my god,” says Eddie faintly, and Buck stands up again, grinning. He kisses Eddie, shuddering when Eddie licks into his mouth, as if chasing the taste of his own come, like he needs the proof of what they’ve done, and when he finds it he moans.

“Alright?” asks Buck when they pull apart, and Eddie nods, still dazed and sex-drunk. “Good. Now, c’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Buck’s so hard it nearly hurts, but the water’s finally starting to get cold, so he should turn the water off and get Eddie out of here—he’s pretty sure shower sex hadn’t been part of the doctor’s orders—but Eddie’s got other ideas. He pulls Buck close for another kiss.

“Nuh uh, you took care of me, let me take care of you,” he says, and takes Buck’s cock in his hand, stroking it without hesitation or restraint.

“Oh my god, Eddie—you should, we should—”

He should really get Eddie to go to bed and rest, but each stroke of his hand clears out all the thought in Buck’s head.

“How do you like it, huh? I feel like you’re probably a hard and tight kinda guy,” he says, and moves his hand to match, gripping Buck’s cock tight and jerking it hard and fast. Eddie’s hand is slick and hot from the water, and the almost frictionless glide is both too much and not enough.

“Yeah, like that, just like that,” Buck gasps, as Eddie watches him avidly through heavy-lidded eyes.

It’s that watching that undoes him, the way Eddie seems to be memorizing him, memorizing this, the way he’s already gone all in even though half an hour ago, neither of them had been planning on taking their friendship further. But Eddie always surprises Buck with how much he trusts him, how much he’s willing to give him, and it shouldn’t be a surprise that Eddie’s the same way with this, as giving with his hands and his mouth as he is with his time and his loyalty.

Buck comes in one hot rush with Eddie’s tight hand on his cock and Eddie’s lips on his throat murmuring encouragement, and better even than the orgasm is the look on Eddie’s face afterwards: the thrilled surprise, the almost dazed smile, the bright joy in his eyes that’s telling Buck this is the beginning of something, something big and true and good.

* * *

The water’s actually running lukewarm at best by now, so Buck gathers his post-orgasm wits and turns off the shower, bundling Eddie up in fluffy towels.

“I can dry myself off,” Eddie says, but he looks dopey and sleepy, and very cute, so Buck just kisses his nose and keeps rubbing him with the towels.

“I know, but let me handle it, alright?” he says, and Eddie makes a grumpy noise as Buck vigorously dries his hair, until it stands up in fluffy cowlicks. It’s _adorable_ and Buck grins helplessly at Eddie.

In retaliation, Eddie scowls and snatches one of the towels and tries to dry Buck off. Mostly he’s just vaguely patting at Buck with the towel, so clearly it is way past bed time for Eddie. Once they’re both dry enough, Buck shepherds Eddie back into the bedroom and gets him in a pair of sweats—it takes a couple tries for a half-asleep Eddie to get his legs through the pant holes—and gets him under the covers. He stops, considers the rain still falling heavily outside and the chill leaking in through the window, and piles on an extra blanket.

“Buck, c’mere already,” demands Eddie.

“I’m coming,” says Buck, and grabs a pair of Eddie’s sweats for himself and turns off the lights before he joins Eddie in the bed. “You warm enough?”

Eddie makes a vague noise that might be yes, and pulls Buck closer. Buck lets him, grateful to breathe in a lungful of the smell of Eddie’s freshly showered skin, the soft sheets around them, the clean, green things smell of Eddie’s shampoo, everything telling Buck they’re both safe and warm and well, far away from the dirty rain despair of just a few hours ago.

“You’re always so good to me. To me and Christopher,” mumbles Eddie, practically slurring he’s so close to being asleep.

“Not always,” mutters Buck, wincing as he remembers all the times he’s failed them or let them down.

“Hey,” says Eddie, sounding more awake now. He takes Buck’s face in his hands. “When it counts. Always.”

Buck’s eyes sting with tears and he blinks them away, leans in to kiss Eddie on the lips, because he can.

“Go to sleep, Eddie,” he says, and makes sure the covers are snug around them.

Eddie’s eyes fall closed, his face already beginning to go lax with sleep.

“You’re staying, right?”

“Yeah,” whispers Buck. “I’m staying.”


End file.
